Revelations of the Astronaut
by Romeobytes
Summary: Maurice gets more then he bargained for when he falls off a ladder and hits his head, and Maggie meets her match. Chapter two complete; please review so I know whether or not to post chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Revelations of the Astronaut**

By Romeobytes**  
**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Northern Exposure or any of its characters, so no lawyers huh?

I tried to write this story as a normal running episode of NX, that is, with multiple story lines and appearances by all the principles. I also tried to do a little something different with the characters, things we haven't seen before. NX is my all-time favorite show, so I have tried to keep the "Character drift" to a minimum. You won't read about Ruth-Anne running off to Paris with Walt Kupfer and having a wild fling, unless someone requests that I write it. I hope you all like it.

CHAPTER ONE

Maurice Minnifield was sitting on the examining table in Dr. Joel Fleischman's office fussing and fuming and generally making Joel's life miserable. Maurice believed he was self-healing and immortal. Medical exams were an indignity to him.

"Fleischman, is this really necessary?" He grumbled.

"Maurice, you fell off of a twelve foot ladder. I'm surprised you can still remember my name," he said.

Maurice hopped off the table and began buttoning his shirt back up. "Look Joel, I been to outer-space. I took my ride, braved the rockets and the uncertainties, just like Shepard and Glenn. Nope, a precipitous little fall is _not_ the way this fly-boy's going down, no _sir_. And you can take _that_ to the _bank_ son."

Joel sighed. "Well, there doesn't seem to be any fractural damage to your skull. 'Course, we can't tell for sure, since you refuse to go to Anchorage for a CAT scan..."

Maurice walked over and put his arm on Joel's shoulder. He had that sick, greasy, faux-fatherly grin on his face, like he was addressing a child of 10.

"Joel, I'm a throw-back, a breed of _man_ that this _country_ of ours doesn't produce any more. I've survived test flights, rocket shots, even a crash landing or two. Don't get your _knickers_ in a knot, son! Before you know it, this bump on the head will heal, and I'll go on living _forever_. You'll see," he said, shaking Joel's shoulders roughly. Joel adjusted his glasses. He laughed nervously, hoping Maurice would laugh too. But he was serious.

"If you say so Maurice," he finally said.

The Brick, Holling Vincoeur's bar, was busy with the lunch crowd. Ruth-Anne was at table six attempting to cut her food and Shelley, as usual, went over to help her. Hayden was already half in the bag, and playing pool. Dave the cook was complaining because everyone was ordering Ratatouille, some kind of French peasant stew that had recently come into vogue here in Cicely. Chris Stevens was at the bar eating said stew, and expounding about its meaning, quoting Lord Byron or something; "It is always the latest song that the audience applauds most..."

"Beg pardon Chris?" Holling said. He had been wiping the bar down in that monotonous, circuitous way of his.

"I was just sitting here eating my stew when I suddenly started thinking about the old and new. What's old is new again. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, that kind of stuff."

"I see," said Holling. What could he say? It's only stew. But it's never "just stew" for Chris.

"We're all transplants up here, re-inventions of our former selves. We've cast off the old persona's and problems, the old skin so to speak, living up here on the Alaskan frontier..." He took a swig of his coffee, then a gulp of stew. He cocked his head slightly, lost in some primordial thought. "I think this stew has awakened some dormant feelings in Cicely, a homing beacon if you will..."

"Uh, would you like some more coffee Chris?" Holling said politely.

"Sure thing," Chris chirped.

Just then, Maggie rumbled up to the bar, tossing a package on the floor beside her. It crashed and tinkled, most likely destroying whatever was in it. She sat for a moment or two staring past Holling at the shelves with the liquor bottles on them. Then she buried her head in her arms and began alternately whining and cursing.

"Can I getch you somthin' Maggie? Cup coffee..?" Holling said warily. No response was forthcoming from Miss O'Connell.

"Hey Maggie, you oughta try the stew. Good for the soul," Chris said from over on his end of the bar. Maggie finally lifted her head; her hair was currently a very cute tom-boy cut, which ran conversely with the mean look in her eyes.

"I have had _four boyfriends_ die on me." She said, holding up the corresponding finger count. "Now that could all just be some sort of sick, _twisted_ coincidence, but I vowed never to let that happen again, _ever_. If that meant never having a man again, I could live with that. Maybe this curse would just..._go away on its own_, you _know_?" she said, bugging her eyes out at innocent looking Holling, who was drying a beer mug with his cloth. Maggie buried her head in her arms again. Marilyn Whirlwind appeared at the bar and ordered a stew and Darjeeling tea. She looked at Maggie, and then at Holling.

"She got a new boyfriend. Doesn't want him to die," she said quietly.

"Oh." said Holling.

Chris scooted over next to Maggie and Marilyn, dragging his stew bowl across the bar with him. He brandished his spoon contemplatively. "I think what's happened here is that, when Maggie shared this bad Karma with the men she loved, she unleashed a meta-physical reaction."

Maggie raised her head, her eyes narrowed into cold slits. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she said. Chris cleared his throat nervously.

"Well, what I mean is that, you've taken these thoughts in your head and shared them with the men you fell in love with. You've created a physical manifestation of your inner most feelings."

"So you're saying I _wanted_ them to die?"

"No, I just think you should give this curse less power by not mentioning it to your lovers," Chris said. "That way the karma stays kosher, you know? You'll have a clean wavelength," he said. He made funny back and forth motions with his hands to illustrate the point.

Holling shook his head, and then went back to get Marilyn's stew.

Maggie was shaking her head too, and smiling un-warmly. "That's _ridiculous_," she said. "I am _not_ the cause of these "manifestations" or whatever you call them. People die everyday! Just because it's happened to me _four times_ doesn't make it my fault. Okay??" she said. She grabbed her stuff and stormed off. The broken box lay near by, forgotten. The label had Dr. Joel Fleischman's name on it.

"Whoa," Said Ed Chigliak, who just appeared at the bar.

"Hey Ed,"

"Hey Chris; say, what's wrong with _Maggie_?" he asked, looking back and watching her stamp out of the bar.

"Just the usual trials and tribulations attributed to the human condition manifesting itself," said Chris.

"Oh," he replied. "Uh, Holling? There's a man outside, sez he's _looking_ for you."

"A man, looking for _me_?' he asked. "Well what's he look like?"

"He's real big; Surly looking, too. Sez he wants to fight you," said Ed, sitting down at the bar. "Should I get Maurice? He has an extensive gun collection…plus he's _mean_."

"No Ed. I can take care of myself."

Shelley wandered back to the bar, sensing something amiss. "What's going on?" she asked; cute and clueless all at the same time

"Holling's gonna fight some guy," said Ed absently, eating some peanuts left on the bar.

"What? Babe, who's gonna help me run the bar if you get skunked??" she said.

"Nobody's getting _skunked_ Shelley. I have a _feeling_ I know who's _out_ there. I knew this day would come..." Holling said. He threw his rag down on the bar and began rolling up his sleeves.

"Babe, you're not going out there?!" said Shelley. "What if he blows you away or something?"

"Oh, he's clean," said Ed. "He just wants a fist fight; and to kill _Holling_."

"Now _Shelley_, I have been _called out_. This is between me and _him_. What kind of _man_ would I be if I refused a _challenge_?" he said. "I could never show my face around these parts _again_."

Shelley pouted a little and then stamped her feet in protest. "Fine, but if you get _killed_ don't come crying to _me_," she said. Chris asked about the guy outside.

Everyone leaned into a tiny huddle around the bar to hear. Even Dave the cook came over.

End of act 1. LOL! Part two coming soon. Coming up: Maggie meets her match, Joel gets lonely and double dates with Chris, and Maurice experiences something very unusual. This thing with Holling just came to me as I was writing this, any thoughts on an outcome? Let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two -Revelations of the Astronaut (I still don't own Northern Exposure or any of its characters.)

"Well, It's like this," Holling began. "That raving lunatic out there used to be my best friend." He paused dramatically. "…Before a woman came between us."

"Wow." said Ed.

"It was winter of 1947. We must have been, oh, nineteen or twenty. We were out in the bush hunting game when a nor'easter hit us; we were snow-blind as all get out. Anyway, we found a house where the folks took us in till the storm passed. The man of the house, Cal was his name, had a lovely daughter named Jeannette. Not as lovely as Shelly of course…" he said, looking over at her. She Blushed and smiled, "…but lovely nonetheless. Suffice it to say we both fell in love with her. But in the end, she chose me, and Jacques, well…" He stared past his captive audience towards the door of the Brick, "he hasn't spoken to me since…"

"Wow." said Ed.

"He always claimed she was the only woman he had ever loved. Always told me I'd pay for stealing her away…" He said. He began taking off his apron and walking out from behind the bar. "I think it's about time we settle this once and for all."

Just then, Jacques himself burst through the door. He was quite short, but wide. He was dressed in bearskins and had fierce facial hair where two intensely black eyes protruded. He scanned the crowd at the bar, and settled on Holling.

"My god," He said, in a rather reverent tone, "Holling Vincoeur, after _forty years_. You sure got old."

"Hello Jacques." said Holling stiffly. Jacques walked up to the bar, parting its crowd like the red sea.

"We have things to discuss my old friend."

"I know it."

"Then, if you are coward enough to steal the woman I was gonna marry, maybe you too coward to come outside, eh?" said Jacques.

"You know I have _never_ backed down from a fight, Jacques."

Jacques laughed. "This may be the first then, eh?" He said, backing towards the door, then finally turning and going out.

Outside, Jacques' loud ranting had attracted quite a crowd; some of the Bear-Clan were taking wagers on the fight. Maurice Minnifield was pushing his way through the crowd over to Holling, who was being prepped by Ed and Chris. Ed was giving boxing tips he learned from Rocky and Raging Bull. Chris was giving tips he learned when he was in the joint back in West Virginia.

"What in the hell is going on here Holling?" said Maurice, "It looks like a damn circus out here…"

"Hollings gonna fight some guy," Said Ed matter-of-factly. Chris was rubbing Hollings shoulders and pep-talking him. "Although I'm a pacifist at heart, there's something about aberrated group behavior that just tingles the spine. Back to nature man, survival of the fittest..."

"I'm sorry I don't feel your enthusiasm Chris," Said Holling.

"That's perfectly normal, Holling. You know, a wise man once said…" But before he could finish his sentence, Jacques interrupted.

"Time to settle our score, old friend!" He yelled. Behind him, Haydon Keyes was rubbing his shoulders. He had 50 bucks riding on the stocky little Frenchman.

All along Pennsylvania Avenue the crowd gathered. They formed a tight circle to watch the spectacle, but instead of cheering and shouting they stared silently. Holling entered the circle from the Brick side, Jacques from the other. Ed whispered to Chris, "This is just like "Cool Hand Luke" with Paul Newman and Strother Martin. Boy I like _that_ movie."

"Put up yer dukes!" said Jacques," and they both began circling each other, fists up in front of their faces like those old-time bare-fist boxers. The crowd murmured.

"Jacques, I don't want to fight you," said Holling.

"Too bad. You have to," he replied.

"No I don't,"

"Yes you DO!"

They circled each other for a while longer, fists still in the air.

"Why did you steal Jeanette! I was gonna marry her! You know what it's _like_ having your best friend stab you in the back?" He said after a time.

Holling put his fists down for a second, "Oh come off it Jacques. That was forty years ago. Plus she left me two days later to pursue an acting career in Hollywood."

"Don't care," said Jacques. He feigned a small jab at Holling, who put his hands back up. "This

Isn't going to solve anything Jack…"

"Yes it will!"

"No it won't."

A cry from the crowd; Shelly. Well it was more of a squeak. She was used to watching her guys fight, especially Wayne, her ex, but this was different. They weren't even fighting about _her_, which struck her as kind of a waste. Holling looked over at her; she looked upset. Holling put his hands down. The crowd started grousing.

"I have a wife with child Jacques. I have to think of them," he said. Jacques finally looked over at Shelly, then put his hands down too. Everyone stood around them, there in the middle of the town, and watched quietly. It looked like Jacques was crying. He turned and walked through the crowd and down the street.

"Where you going Jack?' yelled Holling. He just grunted and made a backhand waving gesture.

"Well I'll be damned," said Holling.

The crowd was dispersing. Joel was standing on the street in his Ushanka mouton sheepskin hat, staring down the street at the retreating Frenchman. Maurice sidled over.

"I don't begin to understand this town sometimes," said Joel.

"Sometimes a man needs to settle his debts in life, no matter what strange fashion he chooses to do it in," said Maurice. "Speaking of _debts_ Fleischman, we need to palaver about that little _vacation_ you took last month."

"The one to Anchorage? What about it?"

"Well," he began, taking a notepad out and scribbling on it with, what looked like, a half chewed golf pencil. "You left for 6 days and 11 hours. That puts you in the hole here for, uh, lessee…"

"_In the hole_? What do you mean _in the hole_? Are you extending my stay here?" He said. "Maurice, that's unethical. Furthermore…"

"Tell that to the judge son, or to the good people of Alaska who ponied up the dough for your education. Besides, it's only three more weeks, Fleischman. Don't go wetting your knickers."

Maurice put his notepad and his golf pencil away and left. Ruth-Anne, who heard the whole exchange, came over. "He's on your case too, I see." She said.

"I've learned to accept Maurice's eccentricities, but sometimes he takes the cake. Why? What's he got on you?" said Joel.

"He's sore because I've almost got the store paid off in full. He won't accept the last payment. He wants to re-negotiate. Power-mad is what he is."

"Ruth-Anne, welcome to the wonderful world of Maurice Minnifield," he said. Just then Ed showed up, holding a slightly gnarled box. He handed it to Joel.

"Hey! My new microscope!"

Chapter Two Post-Script

Tranquility Base

Maurice sat at the head of his own table, which spanned 19 or so feet across the darkly wooded room. Bear and Moose heads glared down from their empty eyes to the lone diner, who sipped a 1962 Cabernet and occasionally nibbled on a Coq Au Vin recipe he had gotten from the two "Nancy boys" Ron and Eric. Somehow everything rankled. Here he was, a Korean War veteran, an astronaut, a _national hero_ for crying out loud, and he was _alone_. Somehow it rankled. Maurice J. Minnifield was not one for self reflection or pontification but he was deeply troubled by this. "Why the hell," he said, "would a man of my stock and breeding, a man of my unlimited resources, intelligence and abilities, end up alone?"

"Because you're an ass," said the man who appeared at the end of the table.

Maurice stared for a few moments, squinted his eyes, Looked at the cup he was drinking from, and finally smelled the bottle from which it came. All were perfectly sound. But still, his damn dead brother sat at the other end.

"Malcolm?" Maurice ventured, 'aren't you dead?"

End of Part Two.

Part three coming soon….


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